No Wheezing The Juice

As a kid, I remembered seeing Jack Lalanne and thinking, "look at this old bastard with his juice and muscles!". I really thought it was some kind of circus act to see a 70 year-old man lifting weights and slamming green fluids down his piehole. Mr. Lalanne was onto something and he spent a lifetime trying to tell us how to stay slim and healthy and we couldn't hear him over the chomping of potato chips and the cans of soda we were popping.

About two years ago, I started to notice that I was loosing my hairs' natural luster and shine. My nails were brittle and my skin looked dull. I bought every hair product for curly hair that guaranteed to restore luster. I bought every nail strengthening lacquer and every skin serum and cream with hopes of seeing some kind of result. It's all a damn lie. All of it.

Onto...my body (yikes). I've always prided myself on the fact that I'm happy with the way I look. Big and all. Damn sexy if you ask me. Well, I actual started LOOKING in the mirror. What I saw was terrifying. It's like someone threw pizza dough over a skeleton-shaped thing and added hair and features. I'm not shitting you.

Upon closer examination, I started noticing other unpleasant things. My ass looked like it got smacked with a bag of nickels. My thighs looked like a group of small children poked holes in the pizza dough body. I had also developed the infamous "batwings" (I believe I can fly).

I watched a documentary about a month ago with my hubby called Fat, Sick, And Nearly Dead. I was stunned. It occurred to me that I've approached EVERYTHING from dieting to hair and skin care to dietary tract care ALL WRONG.

In the documentary a man named Joe Cross made the same observations of himself and did research and found out that people who "juice" are healthy, fit, happy, and LOSING WEIGHT! And not a little bit of weight, like five and six bowling balls worth of pounds!

Rebooting is sweeping the nation. For 60 days, you drink only fresh juice and eat beans and nuts to provide your recommended protein. Some people who aren't sure whether or not they can commit to 60 days have an option to do 10, 20, or 30. Whatever you can possibly handle.

He warns however, that because people are so highly addicted to not just food, but the ritual of eating, the first few days to a week can be brutal. Think of a drug or cigarette addict. Your brains' receptors that are hard-wired to accept processed foods, go apeshit and make you want to run to the nearest Taco Casa and get one of everything on the menu! This is not wise. Eventually your body will begin to reject processed food and will make you violently ill. Good.

After the withdrawals, your body begins to reprogram itself to actually LIKE fresh juice. It begins to crave it. Then something even more amazing happens. Your skin begins to glow. The color of your eyes gets brighter. You hair is shiny and healthy. More importantly, you begin to produce collagen which restores the elasticity of your skin! The years begin to melt away! Basically all that time and money you spent trying to mask your body from the outside is beat out by fixing it from the inside by changing how you eat. 

If we examined a plate of super greens and fruits that we would have to ingest to make a serving of super juice, you can't possibly consume it all. Juicing allows you to juice the whole fruit (seeds, skin and all) and extract the juice and nutrients without compromise. In short, your bombarding your system with super nutrients and all you have to do is let it do its' thing. 

Now the ugly part of juicing. Super-concentrated juice is like natures Ex-Lax. You are going to shit like a baboon. Seriously. If you already have bowel issues, get some depends. Most people don't complain of accidents, they complain that they don't know "where it all comes from". All I'm saying is get ready to get REGULAR!

Now my husband and I have vowed to take this challenge. A full 60 days. I'm not saying we'll make it but we're going to try. Which is better than not trying at all. We're buying an elliptical and going to give it a go.

Now I'm not saying this is a quick fix or some kind of age-reversing magic. No people, this is HARD work! The main reason we're doing it is because we have no motivation to exercise and this is a problem. I swear I could be happy on the couch letting my dog fetch me the bottle of Merlot and eating southwest eggrolls all day. But apparently once you start juicing you can't sit still and FEEL like working out. So I'll pass up the Merlot and eggrolls and jump on the elliptical!

We're not getting younger and the older you get the harder it is to drop the weight. I'm great at starting things but piss poor at finishing them. Not this time precious. Oh no, not this time. If I can make it and show others that a BBQ-eating, beer-drinking, burger-loving, no-exercising, smoking housewife can drop 60 pounds in 60 days and inspire someone else the way Joe inspired us, then I'd say drinking juice was well worth it!

I Want My Own Reality Show

I've watched enough reality TV to consider myself an expert on the subject. I've understood for years that you don't have to have any talent at all aside from being a really fucked up individual. Or be surrounded by really fucked up individuals. In this case, I qualify in both categories.

I've done some pretty amazingly retarded things over the years. Most recently I've gotten sucked in by my older sister (the childhood came rushing back) on a dare. The dare was to take half of a full roll of Bubble Tape, split it between us and chew it completely soft without spitting it out, throwing up, or swallowing it. It's harder than you think. Mostly I just spewed little bits of sweet, sticky saliva all over the place while laughing like an idiot.

I know you think that's not so bad. Well it was my daughters and she asked for some before bed and I yelled, "NO" and then turned around and stole it due to this stupid dare. She woke up the next day looking for it and when I told her what I did and why she didn't have it anymore, she looked at me like a whooped puppy to which I replied, "grow up, it's just gum". Really? Her grow up? Who's the asshole who stole their kids candy to participate in some middle school dare?

On a regular basis, here are a few things the camera would catch me doing:

1. Pissing all over myself when I'm throwing up
2. Getting hammered and making inappropriate comments about illegal immigrants
3. Talking my kids into rubbing my feet and laughing when they complain that they're "snaggy"
4. Crushing up my sister-in-laws Xanax and spiking my hubbies tea when I think he's being a pissy douche (he caught me, he was pissed)
5. When people tell me their gay, I go into my elaborate story about an "experimental" phase when I was 19
6. Going on a camping trip with friends and throwing handfuls of moss and slimy lake vegetation at the drunkest friend who has no idea where it's coming from
7. Telling hubby to try on my thongs to see if it will turn me on (he did it, and it didn't)
8. Talking so loudly about those damn Democrats at the voting polls that people actually walk out
9. Getting hammered and talking my hubby and some friends into breaking into the barn on the property next to the house (cause I swear no one's been there for years) and making out with some sweet DVD's and a dresser
10. Trying to be sexy for hubby and leaning over the back of the couch and the son of bitch snaps in two

Here is a list of things the fucked up individuals in my life have done that the camera would catch:

1. People wrecking out on motorcycles in my driveway because they don't know how to pull onto a rock driveway
2. Running after someone at the races intending to kick their ass but their shorts fall down around their ankles and they trip and eat gravel instead
3. On a river trip, a friend decides to drink moonshine with a group of Navy boys at a bachelor party and ends up jumping on top of coolers and squatting to pee
4. Get invited to a party and walk in on the couple fighting and the hubby flips the kitchen table into the sliding glass door, sees you, then says, "hey y'all come in and have a drink with us?"
5. Having your fully-dressed neighbor disappear for a few hours only for them to reappear in socks, shoes, and underwear
6. Taking a friend to another friends house only for them to fall asleep and you walk into the room to find a dog humping their face vigorously and when you pick the dog up, it's wet underneath
7. Having a friend climb up the step ladder to your above-ground pool and falls through the top and gets stuck
8. High school reunion 2009. There isn't enough room for all of that. It was nuts
9. Watching your cousin roll up catnip in Bible paper and smoking it because SURELY if it gets cats fucked up, maybe we're missing out
10. Beer store is closed. You want beer. Your friends have a solution. Need I say more. They did leave money for the beer, smokes, and cost of the window

If you notice I didn't drop names but you know who you are!

So TLC, get ready to write the check. Honey Boo Boo, suck an egg!

The Reign Of The Baby Is Over

It's been a couple of weeks since I last blogged and I promise I will get around to covering ALL of that. In the meantime, I've been using my keen parental, observational skills and found some things out about my "baby". She's a pain in the ass.

Now when I say baby, I'm sure most of you who don't know me personally are thinking about a parasitic little bundle of spit-up and horrible Tigger onesies, hanging off of some crazed-haired, unbathed, TLC-addicted shadow of a former female human being. No. MY baby is almost six and she's the nightmare my parents had high hopes of me being cursed with.

Up until about six months ago I let that child get away with murder. Seriously. She put a body in the septic system. Whatever Evie Booty wanted, she got. When Evie Booty ran crying to me that her sister hit her because she (allegedly) tore the legs off of her sisters' Monster High doll, I'd smite the older child and give Evie Booty a cup of hot cocoa.

Not fair you say? Horrible parenting you say? Piss off. All parents have a favorite. I'm just woman enough to admit what you're all stuffing down in that (fifth) glass of chardonnay. It was totally fair. After all, she was my youngest and last child. She's the only one of FOUR girls who actually looked like me. And she's too stinking cute, so there.

Well, I started really paying attention to what was happening in my home. I began investigating the catalyst to the unnecessary amounts of drama and chaos being conjured up in the "kid caves" and found Evie Booty Doo at the center of a LOT of it. Don't get me wrong, the eight and ten year-olds can be assholes too.

Then something happened. I became...annoyed...with the Booty. I realized just how needy and spoiled I had made her. I'd pour a Dr. Pepper (when I say Dr. Pepper I mean a glass of wine). I set it down. The Booty asks for a drink of Mommy Juice and I yell, "NO!" I walk into my room for two seconds and BOOM! I walk in and find the "BABY" trying to grab my glass off the counter.

I'm cooking dinner and Evie runs up and begins hugging my leg or finger and I have to peel her off of me like a Bandaid (I am stuck on Bandaid brand cause Bandaid's stuck on me). The child kisses me anywhere she can get her big boogery lips. I'm not kidding. If there's an exposed knee or toe or belly, she's kissing it.

Now I'm not complaining that my kids love me too much (and in fact they do). I'm complaining about the fact that between marriage and kids, I've lost my interdependence. The thing that USED to tell me I am me, and you are you, and I chose to marry/give birth to you, but we are still individuals but it's the unity that I love because of the conscious choice to do it but knowing that my heart would keep beating if any of these things ever ceased to be.

So now I'm trying to wean my kid off of "spoiled". I laugh at crack addicts. This kid is a full-blown mommy addict and her withdrawals are nothing short of spastic. Now when I tell her, "no", her whole face turns completely inside out and I am now looking at the meat inside her body. Her body looks as if it's melting like a Salvador Dali painting her shoulders are now parallel with her knees.

I was surrounded by people who told me "you'll regret it if you spoil your kids" and all I can say to them is "NO SHIT!". But in all fairness, I would do it all over again. Only next time, I'd use a lot more duct tape and a low-powered paintball gun. 

Morning Routine Is A Circus

I'm officially sick of this charade called "the morning routine". There is no routine. It's a bunch of whiny babies running around fighting over the toothpaste and mirror space. As if having three bathrooms isn't excessive, I still can't separate them into the three bathrooms because I'd then wear myself out running from bathroom to bathroom all while having to get backpacks and lunches together!

I'm a Sweet Mommy so I never turn the bedroom lights on and yell at them to get up. I turn on the hall light instead and talk sweetly to them to coax them from their little cozy beds. I believe WE the parents set the tone for our kids day depending on how we prepare them in the morning.

The five year-old is pretty good. She's the first one up. She gets up, grabs her clothes and goes straight to the bathroom. She gets dressed and then lets me do her hair and then brushes her teeth. Meanwhile Zombie Kids 1 and 2 (the eight and ten year-old) are stumbling around in their rooms and yelling at each other to "move" or "shut up". This is some BULL.

I usually finish with the little one and then make my way to the back of the house where the other two girls are. They're still stumbling, still bitching and apparently have the worst short-term memory because they don't know where their clothes are. For the record, they're in the same damn drawers they've been in for years.

By this time, Sweet Mommy is annoyed and as I wrangle the two older girls into the bathroom they're glaring at each other. I still don't understand sibling hostility all that much since I was raised as a single child but it seems to me that they have some kind of "rivalry" going. Is that a thing? Anyway, I stand there and give them instructions (while they're still in PJ's), make them repeat back to me what I need them to do, then I walk away so I can prepare lunches (which the five year-old helps me do).

I'm making lunches while listening to the Pretenders "Brass In Pocket" and feeling like today might be the day they get it done in a reasonable amount of time. Can anyone guess what happens next? That's right. I'm in mid-stroke of the peanut butter and I hear, "OMG I was using that!!" followed by, "OMG you're taking too long (really?)!!" It's an all-out war in the loo. That's it. I've had it. I instruct the youngest to continue with the lunches and I dash back to the bathroom.  

Angry Mommy is now in control. This is a public blog so I clean up what is actually being said at this point.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?! Are you frigging crazy?! I asked you to get dressed, brush your teeth and hair and get the hell out of the bathroom!! I can do all of those things in under ten minutes and you've been in here for twenty!! You're sisters and supposed to love each other or whatever!! When me and daddy DIE you're only going to have each other to lean on you little buttheads!! GET YOUR CLOTHES ON AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH AND HAIR OR I SWEAR I'M GOING TO EAT YOUR FACES!!

Or something like that.

Now...FML...they're crying. The beast in me is still present so their tears don't phase me. Instead I move in close to their faces and whisper, "If you don't start moving I can't guarantee that I won't put your Monster High dolls and Wii in the fireplace while you're at school." The tears then defy gravity and move upwards back into their little tear ducts and they begin to hustle.

This is NOT the end folks. It gets worse. They manage to finish getting ready but are now on the hunt for shoes, jackets, backpacks, brains, etc. Let me just say this to any of you moms who even THINK about critiquing my methods, shut the front door. I'll punch you in the face.

No, I'm not going to lay my kids stuff out at night. No, I'm not going to run around and keep their things organized. THEY are more than physically capable of keeping their things together. If they'd come in from school and hang their jackets, take off their shoes in a place they can find them (not my living room or hallway), and put their stuff back in their backpacks when they finish their work, then they wouldn't have to run around like the Keystone Cops at 7 AM!

Eventually, everything is found, put on, put in, shut up, shut down, laced, tied, buttoned, and packed. I'm still in full-blown crazy mode so when they come up to hug me as the bus approaches, I don't even know what's going on. The Mechanical Mommy then comes out, hugs and kisses, and walks back in the house. I stand there. I look around. The house is a disaster. Every light is on and my blood pressure is boiling. I collapse on the sofa.

Then something wonderful happens. My dog, Smalls, walks up and licks my hand and sits in front of me, waiting for the Mechanical Mommy to disappear. I smile, pat him on the head and I'm back.

Point of the story is, your kids may love you unconditionally and drive you crazy, but an animal can heal your heart. Til the next time the little jerk gets into the trash overnight while you're sleeping and you wake up and step in jelly.

Oops! I Did It Again

Remember the little fit I threw about not liking being 34? Well to add insult to injury, I decided to start looking on the web last night at photos of people in bands who I either used to admire or thought were gorgeous. That was a mistake. They're so old.

In the 80's my favorite was David Glasper (whom you might remember from the band Breathe who sang Hands To Heaven, shown below as I remember him). In the 80's, they deemed him the man "too sweet for rock". First of all, Breathe was a SOFT rock band so I think he fit perfectly. I also think he aged well but those pics are hard to find.

Anyway, he was the only one who still looks amazing. Rick Astley looks like a bloated codfish. Mark Slaughter (Slaughter) looks like a witch. Neil Finn (Crowded House, below, now) looks like a blonde Paul McCartney. Gross.

In the 90's I loved Dave Matthews. What the hell was wrong with me? Talented, yes. Handsome, no. Plus he reminds me of a high-pitched, nasally Tom Hanks. I also adored Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins) but again, same thing. Super talented but super ugly. Lane Staley (Alice In Chains) will forever be adorable due to his untimely death 9 years ago. Really the only person from my 90's list who is still hot is Shirley Manson (Garbage, below, now).

But isn't that like Hollywood and the music industry? They push you until you either crack and go Ricki Lake or end up in a mental hospital. Look at Madonna. She's as old (or older) than Neil Finn and David Glasper but she's in amazing shape. Still ugly to look at but she's got a smoking body. Somewhere between their second album and now, the men said "screw it". They made their money, married a model, and let it all go. The women seem to be in a constant battle to stay forever young.

What the hell is wrong with us? The serenity prayer teaches us to accept the things we cannot change. So why can't we? Yeah I can change my physical body. I can jump on the elliptical every day til I'm a size 6 again. Only problem with that is I'm highly impatient. If I got results like, oh I dunno, AS SOON AS I GET OFF THE ELLIPTICAL, I might be more inclined to work out. I CANNOT change wrinkles. Or spots. Or grays. Or creepy little veins.

Back to my original point. Apparently everyone gets old. And apparently it speaks volumes about you when you embrace it and work hard to combat it. With that being said, I'm going to go to the Clinique counter to get some anti-getting-old-and-ugly creams and serums and then I'm going to work out every day to get off this little boo-hoo-I'm-old-and-fat box! It's going to be a lifestyle change people so you can either get on board or hate me later!

Oooo, donuts...

Scary TV And Kids

Our three daughters have been trying to convince us that they're ready to watch scary shows. I don't like it. But since they're showing an interest, hubby decided to start them out with some mild suspense type stuff like Paranormal Witness. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's a show that gives testimony and shows reenactments of people's personal paranormal experiences.

Reenactment or not, they were TERRIFIED. Despite the terror they were experiencing, they still refused to stop watching and even got mad at me when I made my husband turn it off for a little while. That's just crazy right?! I mean if you're scared then why would you want to further subject yourself to MORE terror?!

Shower time rolls around. Three kids at shower time on a regular night is no joke. They take for frigging EVER and barely leave enough hot water for the unlucky third child.

My oldest daughter was first and she wasn't feeling well to begin with so I think she was fast simply because she felt like crap and just wanted to lay back down. My youngest daughter was next. She kept looking down the dark hallway and moved with lightening speed to turn on every damn light in the hall and bathroom before finally getting in the shower. 

My middle daughter was last. What a nightmare. I asked her not once, not twice, but SEVEN times to go get her butt in the shower as she apologized repeatedly for moving so slow. I knew she was procrastinating and since this was all my hubby's fault anyway, I kept my cool. 

She too, peered down the looming hallway as if some ominous creature was lurking in the shadows, ready to make a meal out of her. And I don't care what Pixar tells you, those aren't the monsters children imagine.

This is what a child imagines...

and it is going to eat them alive.

She made her way into the bathroom and stripped down and that was about all she could take. She bolted out of the bathroom, butt cheeks clinched and not looking back. I asked her what was up and she said, "there's no hot water!" Hubby gets up with the "I've had about enough of this nonsense" look, and went to investigate the water temperature.

Sure enough the water was hot and then she began to pester the YOUNGEST to come sit in the bathroom with her while she takes a shower. Youngest wouldn't hear any part of it and refused and left me with a crying, naked, eight year-old standing in my living room. FML. I looked at hubby and exclaimed, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!" to which he replies (while laughing), "they're just being wusses".

We finally got through shower time. I was a wreck. I was mostly upset that I couldn't get them to understand that this wasn't even a scary MOVIE. It was some TV-14 show on a cable channel. I also explained that obviously nothing had happened to the witnesses since they were there, ON THE TV SCREEN, telling their stories! And they wanted to watch Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark.

They made it through the night. I didn't wake up with any kids in my bed. I wake the girls up and as I'm making coffee, I'm bombarded with questions and stories. "Mom, did you get up last night and knock something over?" (we have two cats, a dog, and a tortoise), "Mom, I heard scratching last night." (again, we have two cats, a dog, and a tortoise), "Mom, there was a wild cat outside last night! I swear! I heard it! And meowing. I heard meowing!!" (cats again), "Mom is our house built on a burial ground?" (WTF?). I answer, "NO AND WE HAVE ANIMALS AND NO AGAIN!"

Never again guys, never again.

For the record, all three kids are safe and alive. Although I'm pretty sure they still have soap in their hair.

Joining The Ranks Of The Lame Bloggers

Blogging is therapy, blogging is therapy. Unloading my crap onto unsuspecting people is therapy. Gee, I feel better already. 

I've realized that I'm officially at an age that older generations are willing to accept that I'm capable of having a degree of wisdom and therefore are willing to engage in my moments of reflection. Which unfortunately means for younger generations, I'm just another old bitch. Whatever.

First of all I'll get this out of the way from go, I don't like being 34. I feel like I'm in 8th grade again and my peg just doesn't fit anywhere. Sorry, it does NOT count that your own kids think your cool just because you know all of the words to Rob Bass' It Takes Two.

I sort of went through a mid-life crisis last year and it was disastrous. *Snickers like Sheldon* I said "went" as if this thing has already passed. Correction, I'm going through a mid-life crisis only this year has been much better than the last.

Women's mid-life crisis are much different from men's. I don't give a damn about fast cars or hairlines. I think I'm just petrified of "losing it", whatever "it" is. I see Sofia Vergara and I wanna slap that bitch. Or make out with her. See? I'm losing my frigging mind. Point is, I have become aware that I'm not 21 anymore and I hate it.

When my husband tells me he thinks I'm sexy it always makes me cringe a little. I worry that he's saying it because I smell desperate for compliments or something. I feel like the psycho chick with the smeared lipstick and mascara keeping some guy chained in the basement asking him, "DO I LOOK PRETTY?!"

These thoughts usually pass and I'm back to my NORMAL crazy self again. And I do know that my hubby loves me and he probably, genuinely thinks I'm sexy. What I'm having a hard time coming to grips with is how I see myself NOW as opposed to how I used to see myself. I'm not gonna lie, I used to be banging hot. Four kids later, I've become...squishy.

I also realized that I'm not as interesting to talk to anymore. When I was younger, every day was a new day full of war stories from the night before. People actually LIKED talking to me. I've become so sarcastic (because of my aging and reflection and understanding reality and such) that I usually just piss people off when I open my mouth.

I know the only way I'm going to get through this is to move forward and find ways to enjoy being 34. Hanging onto to 21 isn't helping and it isn't healthy. Oh, and everyone needs to stop being funnier and hotter than me. Like NOW.